


honeypot

by toromeo (ald0us)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M, aka Jonathan is a two-faced bitch, honestly I just love this pairing and wanted to explore Jonathan's duplicity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 04:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13803651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ald0us/pseuds/toromeo
Summary: Honeypot: a computer system that is set up to act as a decoy to lure cyberattackers, and to detect, deflect or study attempts to gain unauthorized access to information systems. Alternately, in espionage it refers to the use of sexual seduction to obtain information.Jonathan Morgenstern infiltrates the Institute.





	honeypot

**Author's Note:**

> Aka Jonathan is a little minx. If this pairing is for you, enjoy!! Minor warning for extremely vague suicidal ideation—not a part of the plot or anything, but heads up for a brief mention.
> 
> Set vaguely between 2x15 and 2x18.

Sometimes, Alec couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.  
  
He tried not to think about it. He blocked it out, worked long, exhausting hours at his desk so that when he returned to his room he could pass directly from wakefulness to sleep. When the crushing _weight_ on his shoulders threatened to overtaken him, he trained, and when training was too much, he sat in the gardens and thought of all he was fighting to protect.  
  
Today they’d lost Valentine. One, simple task—transport the Clave’s most dangerous prisoner to Idris.  
  
They’d failed. _He’d_ failed.  
  
Nothing the Inquisitor with her _adamas_ hatred or the Consul with all his cold authority said compared to the redressing he’d prepared for himself in his own mind. _He’d allowed this. He’d done this._ He saw the confusion, the horror in Isabelle’s eyes as she insisted it was her fault, her mistake, and her anger when she was ignored. The Clave was not interested in fault. It was interested in consequence.  
  
“Drinking alone on a week day? Things must be dire.”  
  
Alec looked up. Sebastian Verlac stood in the doorway, an apologetic but also slightly humorous expression on his face. It probably should have pissed him off a bit, but it didn’t, maybe because it was past 3 AM and Verlac was the only other one up. And he wasn’t making fun of him, not really—that was just Alec’s instincts curling up against an imagined threat.  
  
“Uh, yeah.” Alec offered a rueful attempt at a smile, and only partially succeeded. “Shit day at the office.”  
  
The humor faded from Verlac’s expression. He had personal stake in this, too—according to Isabelle, his parents had been killed in a demon attack orchestrated by Valentine. “I’m sorry, Alec,” he said, more softly. “I wasn’t part of the team in charge of the transfer but—there must be a mole, or—I should have found them earlier. But I’ve assembled a list of people Duncan had contact with recently and everyone with some kind of grudge against Valentine—“  
  
“That’s everyone,” Alec interrupted to point out. He shook his head and took another sip of whatever the hell Jace kept in his closet. It tasted horrible, like liquid fire. Jace wasn’t going to be pleased when he realized it was missing, but Alec was hoping he’d understood it went to a good cause. “I appreciate it, Sebastian, but I’m pretty sure this pity drink will be my last act as head of the Institute.”  
  
He tried to sound at least mildly humorous about it, and to his own ears failed miserably.  
  
“It...it can’t be as bad as that,” Sebastian said. His expression was sympathetic, but his tone sounded oddly defensive, as if Alec’s misfortune was a personal slight. “The Clave has never been understanding, but if we can find who’s responsible—“  
  
“The Clave has been looking for a reason to remove me since the day Jace made me head of the Institute,” Alec said. This isn’t a grievance he’d air to Verlac in a normal circumstance, but things seemed apocalyptic enough he didn’t see the overt harm in it. “They’re not really the biggest fan of my policy. Or me.”  
  
Verlac looked down, as if Alec had chastised him. At last, he said, “Jace has always been the favorite child.”  
  
Alec found this comment rather strange, but chose not to reply. Verlac had displayed a strange sort of interest in Jace, but then it wasn’t that unusual. Jace and Clary were the talk of the Clave, with their newfound powers and the revelations of their respective heritage. Jace in particular had gone from being the demon-born son of Valentine to the Herondale heir in the span of a month.  
  
“Drink?” Alec offered, holding up a glass. It was actually a tea mug Isabelle had ordered off the internet that said _World’s Grumpiest Brother_ on it, but he figured he could be forgiven, in the circumstance.  
  
“Why not,” Verlac said. He crossed from the door to the chair opposite Alec’s desk, pulling the seat back and sitting down. He was very graceful, and Alec suddenly wondered if he was drunk. He didn’t _feel_ drunk, but he figured it was possible. Pushing the thought away, he screwed open the top of the bottle and poured Sebastian a generous helping.  
  
Sebastian took a sip from the mug, and made a horrible face as soon as he’d swallowed. “By the Angel, that’s terrible,” he said, looking horrified. “Do you drink that?”  
  
“I stole it from Jace,” Alec admitted. “It might be grain alcohol or window cleaner.”  
  
Sebastian gave Alec a look that suggested he had serious doubts about Jace’s sanity, and Alec actually managed a smile. He was pretty, with his wide blue eyes and curved lips that always made him look as if he’s faintly smiling. In the lamplight, his blond hair seemed to shine. Alec felt irrationally guilty for noticing, then annoyed at himself for feeling guilty.  
  
“Valentine’s escape wasn’t your fault, Alec,” Sebastian said, and his gaze was unusually intense, locking with Alec’s. “It was the Clave’s responsibility to eradicate the remaining members of the Circle, and they failed. Your team was likely compromised before the plan was even made, let alone put into action.”  
  
Alec bit back a retort—he was only trying to help, after all. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’d rather not discuss it.”  
  
Sebastian nodded, the strange, intense look in his eyes not dissipated. “Another topic, then. Max’s training is going well. He’s very capable, your family has raised him well.”  
  
On his desk, Alec’s phone vibrated. It was Jace, asking him if he’s up. Alec wondered if the black ball of negative emotion in his chest reverberated across their bond, or if he’s missing his alcohol. Or both. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “We’re all proud of Max. He’s our little brother.”  
  
“A little devil, though,” Sebastian said, and they both laughed. Max liked following rules about as much as his siblings did. “It’s a privilege to teach him. Honestly.”  
  
Isabelle had gushed about how good Sebastian was with Max, how they bonded so fast. How Sebastian seemed to understand him instantly, like he did with everyone else, how he taught him all the little tricks that came to the shadowhunter trade like Max was his own. Alec wondered if he was the only one who thought Sebastian strange, saw how his face changed when he thought no one looked.  
  
Maybe he’d misjudged him. Alec certainly wasn’t feeling very confident about his own judgments at the moment. He took another swig of Jace’s alcohol, wincing as it burned its way down his throat.  
  
“We’re glad you came,” Alec said. It was true—even Jace seemed to like him, or tolerate him. Clary seemed eternally grateful that he’d helped her with her runes, even if his methods had been...unorthodox.  
  
Sebastian didn’t reply, watching him closely for a moment. In that moment Alec realized he’d been scrutinizing Alec as much as Alec had been scrutinizing him; the realization was mutual between them, and they both gave rueful smiles. “Are _you_ glad I came, Alec?”  
  
The question was a challenge, in a way Alec couldn’t quite understand. Sebastian had been helpful—to all of them. His day-to-day aid in running the Institute had been invaluable, his help training Max equally so. And he’d saved Izzy, helped Clary—and yet that wasn’t what he asked.  
  
Why did he hesitate to say yes?  
  
The truth was it was because Sebastian was a reminder. Of what he couldn’t have. An attractive, competent stranger that, if they had been of the opposite sex, no one would have questioned Alec for admiring. Or if he’d been born a mundane—  
  
None of that mattered. Alec was a shadowhunter, and even if he had to drag the Clave kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century by his mere existence, he would do his duty. It was, beside his family, all he had.  
  
_All_ , a little voice said in the back of his head, _all he would ever have._  
  
“Yes,” Alec said. “I am.”  
  
Sebastian smiled, and his smile was bright and beautiful, and a little bit abashed. Alec was no stranger to crushes, and he felt the familiar pull of it now. It was unreasonable, it was sure as hell unprofessional, it was 3 AM on the last day of his position as head of the Institute, when he’d let Valentine escape.  
  
“Alec, I...” Sebastian halted, and Alec realized he’d leaned in. He licked his perfect lips, glances down. “Are you...doing anything tonight?”  
  
It was so unexpected Alec was convinced he misheard. He can’t have meant—there was nothing else he could have meant. Alec’s mind raced, trying to find the trap, but Sebastian looked nervous now, eyes so vulnerable, it seemed impossible he meant anything but an offer, plain and simple.  
  
It seemed like such a long time since anything had been simple.  
  
“You mean—?” Alec asked, and his voice sounded unstable even to his own ears.  
  
Sebastian nodded, though the vulnerability in his eyes hadn’t gone away. “Nothing serious I just—you seem lonely.” He gave a strange little laugh. “Think of it as stress relief.”  
  
He should have said no. Inviting Sebastian in was a mistake—it was all a mistake. Alec should have prepared for tomorrow, slept, anything but indulged himself in such a frivolous, golden thing. But loneliness, like weakness, had a way of twisting the tongue and he said, “My room isn’t far.”  
  


  
  
Sebastian was golden, kisses as soft as his perfect lips, urgent and languid at once. He was slender and graceful even as he arched his back and squeezed his thighs around Alec’s hips and made the softest of sounds as they shifted against each other. Alec mouthed a line of kisses from his jaw to his chest, caressing the soft skin of his thigh; Sebastian pushed his head back and moaned, perfect lips parted, and ran his clever fingers along Alec’s spine, as if feeling each vertebrae.  
  
Alec breathed in each second, letting the warmth between their bodies and the waves of unbelievable pleasure seep into his core. Every whisper of the sheets against his skin, every movement of Sebastian’s body against his own sent intermingled _satiation_ and _want_ shooting through his veins. Sebastian clung to him and seemed almost to tremble and whimper with pleasure, gasping with wide eyes and mouth and clawing at Alec’s back as he came. Alec came moments after, shell-shocked by sweet and welcome release. He savored every aftershock, letting Sebastian curl up against him and rest his forehead against Alec’s shoulder.  
  
They lay there entangled for a long moment, Sebastian’s breathing slow and shallow, his near-translucent lashes drooping down towards sleep. In the lamplight he looked angelic, hair faintly haoled in gold. Valentine and all of Alec’s troubles seemed a lifetime away.  
  
Alec’s phone vibrated on the bedside table and Sebastian blinked himself awake, looking blearily towards the source of the noise.  
  
“Answer it,” he said softly, reaching for his own on the bed beside them as if to check for any major disaster.  
  
It was Maryse. Alec’s stomach clenched, as if some small, irrational part of him were afraid his phone was an eye through which his mother could see him in bed with another man. Or maybe it was him flinching away from reality. Either way, he opened the text.  
  
_> Representative from the Clave arriving soon._  
_> Tell Isabelle not to worry._  
_> Will call when we know more._  
  
Soon. Alec pushed himself up off the bed, reaching vaguely for his shirt. He was a bit sweaty and still rather distracted and he resolved to take a shower as quickly as possible before the Clave’s envoy arrived.  
  
“The Inquisitor’s sending someone,” he said, to Sebastian’s questioning face. “You don’t have to, but you may want to make yourself scarce after they do, I’m not sure how much they’ll appreciate a newcomer.”  
  
And if things blew up in his face, well, better to take as few people as possible with him.  
  
“Alec—“ Sebastian said, then broke off. He was a lot slimmer than Alec expected without his clothes, though not the firmness of muscle.  
  
“I’m taking a shower,” Alec said, grabbing his clothes and heading for the bathroom. “Watch my phone for any messages, okay? I’ll be a few minutes.”  
  
The shower was the coldest, fastest, and most stressful he’d taken in years, but it sure as hell had his mind razor-sharp and the rest of him shivering as he toweled himself off and struggled into his clothes. A quick comb through his hair and a squint to make sure he didn’t have any visible stubble and he was out, searching for his tablet on his desk and opening it up.  
  
“Anything?” he asked.  
  
“Not yet,” Sebastian replied. He was still laying in bed, but there was a set of tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there moments prior. He held out the phone, and Alec crossed over to the bed to take it. The messaging app wasn’t open, which Alec found strange, but he assumed Sebastian had closed out of it to avoid trampling his privacy.  
  
Maryse called a few minutes after that and as she spoke Alec watched Sebastian dress with a vague pang of regret. He wore so many layers, as if he were always deathly cold. Then, with a brisk and paradoxically professional nod, Sebastian silently slipped away, shutting the door behind him.  
  
  
  
  
“So you and Sebastian, huh?” Jace asked. He looked buoyantly happy, and even if the expression was momentary seeing his _parabatai_ smile lifted Alec’s spirits somewhat. “I wouldn’t have seen that coming, didn’t think he was your type.”  
  
Alec wished he could have Jace’s energy but he was simply exhausted. Though he’d been granted an incredible reprieve, he and Robert had worked through the night in meetings, discussing the strategy and politics around Alec’s failure. “Is it already the talk of the Institute?”  
  
“What? No, I saw him walk out of your room at the asscrack of dawn with his shirt inside-out holding my liquor, which I know you stole.” Jace clapped him on the shoulder, looking almost as giddy as he’d expect Izzy to be. “C’mon, things are looking up. How many people get laid and keep an entire Institute in the same night?”  
  
“For now,” Alec reminded him. “I think that was rather contingent on us recovering Valentine, which won’t exactly be easy.”  
  
Jace’s expression faded somewhat, replaced with a steely, determined look. A muscle jumped in his jaw, which usually spelled trouble for both of them but now it was almost a comfort. “We’ll find him. You were born to do this, Alec. I won’t sit by and let them toss you aside. No one in this family will.”  
  
Alec knew Jace spoke from the heart and with all his willful determination, and some of that strength of his assurance and energy seemed to flow through their bond and restore Alec’s faltering conviction. He didn’t have to thank Jace—words passed between them swift and soundless.  
  
“I love you,” Alec said, because he wanted Jace to hear him say it, for the words to lodge themselves in his mind, should he ever doubt them.  
  
“I love you too,” Jace said, and when he heard them the words rang true.  
  


  
\- - -

  
  
“I can’t believe it,” Izzy was saying, over and over. “That son of a bitch. Max could have died— _Clary_ could have died. He used all of us.”  
  
_He used me_ , each of them said in the privacy of their minds. Sebastian—Jonathan—had tricked all of them, found their loose strings and pulled at them. Clary with her runes and the death of her mother— _their_ mother, Alec realized. Listened to her, sympathized, gave her the right words at the right time. Isabelle with the _yin fen_ —played the fellow recovered addict, gave her reassurance she could break the habit, helped her with the withdrawal, supported her through it all. Even Jace had opened up to him—Alec knew they’d spoken about Valentine, something Jace so rarely did. And Alec—well.  
  
The more he thought about it the more Jonathan’s plan fell into place. He stole the Mortal Sword so that Valentine’s testimony would be useless, then used the Mortal Cup to raise Azazel to charm his way into the Institute. Then he pressured Duncan so that Izzy’s transfer would fail and used his position to infiltrate the Institute’s security, then stole Clary’s mother’s box of his things once Clary and Jace discovered he was still alive. He’d even installed something on Alec’s phone so he could block the lockdown alarm and spoof texts, and killed his way through nearly ten armed guards. If Clary’s intuition hadn’t forced him to reveal himself, he would have made off with the false mirror unchecked.  
  
For the phone...Alec knew only vaguely about the kind of expertise required to root and take over a device, but he knew it required about three minutes of unfettered physical access. Alec never left his phone alone, even keeping it beside him as he slept—  
  
The cold weight that had settled at the bottom of Alec’s stomach reared in his throat and for a split second it felt as if he might vomit. Something must have shown in his face because Jace looked his way in alarm, taking his arm as if to steady him.  
  
Memory of the night of Valentine’s arrest returned to him in fragments—Sebastian’s sympathy, _stress relief_ , he’d called it. Telling Alec it wasn’t his fault. Had he been laughing at him the whole time, mocking him with his reassurances, as if daring Alec in all his willful, stupid ignorance to see through the façade? Then rooting Alec’s phone in the few, precious minutes he’d left to shower for the Clave’s arrival.  
  
Alec had, quite simply, been a fool, and he had failed to keep his family safe. Max had nearly died because of it. The weight of the revelation was like a physical burden on his shoulders.  
  
“Alec,” Jace said, and his voice was nearing gentle, as if Alec were so fragile he might break. His hand touched Alec’s back and Alec nearly startled;  his touch was never like that, never gentle or intimate, always with force and passion.  
  
“It’s not your fault,” Isabelle continued, her tone edged with pleading. “I brought him here. I let him train Max.”  
  
“It’s no one’s fault,” Alec said, putting forceful finality behind his words that rang dull and hollow to his own ears. “Least of all yours, Izzy. We’ll work our way out of this together. Valentine and Jonathan don’t have the mirror any more than we do.”  
  
Clary, Izzy, and even Jace nodded, the room mute. Alec got up, pushed back his shoulders. He swallowed over the lump in his throat—he was a Lightwood. He would do his duty. He would see Jonathan and Valentine Morgenstern dead, and he would feel nothing as he watched their ashes scatter away on the wind.  
  
“I’m going to visit Max,” he lied. “Text Maryse or Robert if you need me.”  
  
  
  
  
Jonathan sat alone on the park bench, watching the sun set. Though it was nearly dark, people still flitted here and there and Jonathan watched, noting their faces, their clothes, the way they looked around their surroundings or steadfastly ignored them, how couples held each others’ arms and looked each others’ way, how children romped around their parents’ legs. He liked watching people, even if it always made him peculiarly sad. They were happy, some of them, and Jonathan supposed that was something.  
  
Jonathan was not happy. His arm ached from where he’d shattered the bones of his hand hitting the steel I-beam on the roof of Sebastian Verlac’s apartment building, and the sensation of them slowly knitting back together was familiar yet intensely painful. He could have used an _iratze_ , of course, but the tearing, throbbing pain in his hand pulled his mind away from the cold, deep ache in his chest.  
  
Jonathan remembered Sebastian Verlac’s phone in his pocket and drew it out. He’d taken precautions but it was possible the Clave could track it—it needed to be destroyed. As he struggled to hold the power button to turn it off the notification screen flashed, showing a message he’d gotten a few hours prior. It was from Alec, asking if Sebastian wanted anything for lunch.  
  
Jonathan hurled the phone into the concrete with all his strength and it shattered. With a rush of fury he surged to his feet, driving the heel of his boot into the aluminum casing, crushing it until it was little more than deformed bits of circuitry and metal. He _hated_ it, _hated hated_ it, wanted it to _die gone suffer_ —  
  
Jonathan’s vision blurred and he collapsed back onto the bench, hot tears spilling down his cheeks. He buried his head in his hand, ignoring the tearing pain in the bones and ligaments of his broken hand. Inside his head he screamed, and screamed, and screamed.  
  
He’d done everything right but everything had gone so wrong. Valentine should have been in Edom, suffering the hell he deserved. Little Max shouldn’t have known, shouldn’t have been so bright, so inquisitive, such a _child_. Alec, Izzy, Jace and Clary shouldn’t have known either—it was all their _fault_ , he’d just wanted to make things right. He should be with them now, talking and laughing with Isabelle and Clary, his little sister, seeing her smile light up the room—that was all gone, now, any sort of bond between them running out with his blood where she’d stabbed him. He should be in Alec’s arms, pressed against his body and listening to the steady _thump_ of his heart and the soft _rush_ of his blood—  
  
Jonathan hated and wanted, wanted to die and to kill, numb with feeling. Above all he _hurt_ , and he wanted to scream, but screaming had never done anything so he sat on the park bench and waited for his father to return.

**Author's Note:**

> Side note: in my mind Alec has a lot of symptoms and traits of anxiety, and as such he engages a in a lot of catastrophic thinking and tends to experience a lot of guilt. I don't actually think everything ever is his fault and that he's a failure, but in my interpretation of him here that's how he thinks. (Especially in comparison to Jonathan, who refuses to find fault in himself for his own actions). So please don't take this as some bizarre form of character bashing, just an attempt to explore the pressure and expectations he puts on himself and how he might react to perceived failure or betrayal.


End file.
